


Mocha Latte

by Kittykatzrq



Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-07-17 21:37:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16104314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittykatzrq/pseuds/Kittykatzrq
Summary: Just a little bit of chocolate can take all the bitterness away.





	1. Atelier

#  **Mocha Latte**

-Kitty

**Chapter 1:  Atelier**

* * *

 

He woke disoriented and in pain, a hot, flashing, burning sort of pain that originated in his gut and pulsed outward in jagged, lightning sparks of agony.  It took him many, many moments to conquer the pain, override it, and stuff it away to the back of his mind and take stock of his situation. At first, he was only aware of his body and his position, on his back, prone to attack and propped up against something soft and supportive.  The textures against his skin were unnervingly foreign. When had he last felt a material so plush and supple? His breathing was shallow, it was difficult to intake air and each inhale was associated with a sharp, mind numbing throb. But slowly, very, very slowly, his other senses returned, bleary and warped at first, but growing in clarity and then, flooded with surprise.

The light around him was mellow and warm, bathing him and easy on his eyes.  Gently flickering, round, blurry orbs sharpened to reveal a set of warmly scented candles, vanilla and cinnamon, that seemed to melt into him, giving him a sense of ease that had not been his for a very, very long time.  

As his eyes sharpened and his sense of hearing returned, he came to the awareness that he was not alone.  A soft tinkling, the sound of glass being struck rapidly, followed by a soft swirling against a smooth flat surface.  A breath in that was not his, a creak as a body shifted, then a soft sigh. He turned his head slowly, his eyes seeking out the presence nearby, his body tensing as he tried to ascertain the potential threat.  There was a long, draped sheet that obscured his view but through it, he could make out a silhouette. The figure was hunched over, clearly immersed in some activity. The head lifted, tilted to the side as the shadow stretched and then reach over to the side.  Again the soft sound of tinkling glass followed by a swirling of a soft object against porcelain. Then the silhouette dipped down again, hunching over in concentration. 

The pain had ebbed now, as his mind came fully awake.  He cast his eyes about, taking in the details of this new environment in the dim light.  He was unbound, which surprised him, and it afforded him the opportunity to slip away, if only he could find the exit.

Glancing down, he saw that he was reclined on an old, beat up mattress.  Its owner’s scent was embedded heavily into it and he wrinkled his nose slightly to note how it had rubbed off onto him.  Nevermind the qualities in the scent that his sensitive nose could pick apart and read like a book, he didn’t care. All that mattered at this particular moment was to escape.

The space was small and crammed.  The floor was littered with papers and clothing.  Combined with the pain of his wound, the obstacle course would be a considerable challenge for his normally very capable stealth.  He continued to take in the details surrounding him. There was an exit here, somewhere. His nose detected the scents out the outdoors and his ears could hear the sounds of traffic.  Where was the escape route? 

Suddenly, a scraping sound came from the other side of the sheet, the telltale sound of a chair being pushed back as the shadow stood.  He watched with narrowed eyes as the silhouette raised stiff arms to stretch before appearing to turn toward him. His body was tense and his instinctive reaction to fight or flee flared up within him, forcing him to grit his teeth together to stuff it back down.  The shadow approached the edge of the sheet, an arm reaching over to pull the barrier aside. He quickly tried to relax his buzzing muscles, closing his eyes and trying to take on a pose that resembled sleep. He tried not to flinch when he heard the sound of the sheet being pulled aside and soft, padded footsteps creeping closer.  Should he lash out? Strike first before his captor could harm him? His mind whirled as he tried to decide on his next course of action and was completely unprepared for the smooth, female voice that spoke beside him.

“I know you’re awake.  And you don’t need to be so stiff.”

There was silence for a very long second before he cracked an eye open to witness the owner of the bed he lay in.  Female. Young. Dark hair and wide, brown eyes. She was dressed in some sort of oversized jean overalls that hung over an obviously lean, fleshed out body.  The warm, flickering candlelight reflected off her smooth skin and as he took in these observations of her physical appeared, her voice spoke out again, bright and clear like a bell.

“I won’t ask any questions and you’re welcome to stay until that wound heals.”

He blinked.  It was not the words or the tone he was expecting.  The confusion and uncertainty have shown on his face because her eyes softened into a smile that was soft and welcoming, an expression that hadn’t been directed at him in years.

“You should try to get some rest,” she said, “Even your kind will take a while to heal from an injury like that.”

He frowned, still suspicious, still confused.  Was he hearing her correctly? Was this a trick?  Her expression turned sympathetic and she sighed, still smiling.  

“Are you hungry?” she asked, “I don’t have much but there’s some chicken soup you can have.”

He kept his face closed and wary.  He wasn’t ready to accept anything from this enigmatic young woman.  He maintained his suspicious stare, ready for anything, an attack, an insult.  She saw this and sighed again, shifting to one foot and stuffing her hands in her giant pockets.  

“Well, just let me know if you need anything,” she said, before slipping back behind the sheet, tugging it further along to darken his side of the room.  There was a shuffling and a collection of clanking and clattering, and then a liquid being poured, and then a velvety, noisy sip of a beverage that smelled like chocolate.  The chair scraped against the floor again as the girl returned to her desk. Silence followed, punctuated by the sounds of tinkling glass and swirling shuffles and though his every instinct demanded he remain vigilant in these unfamiliar surroundings, he found himself drifting.  Exhaustion from the events that led to the gaping hole in his abdomen and the effort his body expended to knit itself back together eventually overcame him and he succumbed to the blackness of a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

 

A/N:  So… this one’s probably going to be very sparsely updated and probably very serial in nature without any real plot…. just going to be written whenever inspiration randomly strikes.


	2. Lazy Morning

#  **Mocha Latte**

-Kitty

**Chapter 2:  Lazy Morning**

* * *

 

A dim, bubbling sound preceding a sharp click woke him.  A white ear flicked backward, reacting to the noise. Dark lashes slowly cracked apart as he opened his golden eyes.  It had been a very long since he’d slept so deeply and there was a part of him greatly concerned with that. Had he been drugged?

There was a warm, natural light streaming in from the far wall and it fell over him, heating his skin, relaxing him further.  It was so contrary to how he’d been waking up for the past several years, perhaps decades, and it confused him to a point where he could hardly move a muscle as he absorbed this strange situation he found himself in.  The presence nearby shuffled and the sound of water dripping into a glass container caught his attention and he followed it in a strange, hazy trance.

Drip…

Drip…

Drip…

Then the smell permeated the room, a warm, dark scent that slowly reached into the deeper parts of his sleepy mind and drew him out.  A buzzing sound came from the other side of the hanging sheet and another shuffling as the presence moved to answer her phone.

“What is it, Miroku?”

Her voice finished what the smell of coffee had started and now he was wide awake.  

“So?”

There was an edge to her tone that put him on guard.  She was obviously unhappy with the caller and he was suddenly curious as to why.

“It’s your fault your agents didn’t have the info to handle it properly, why should I help you?”

More sound of liquid pouring, sending another wave of that distinctive coffee aroma around the room.  Then a tinkling sound. Then the muted sound of swallowing as the woman took a sip.

“Well maybe you should have thought of that when you sent her off to catch him in the first place.  The half son of a daiyoukai is no simple task, idiot!”

_ That _ jolted him awake like a splash of cold water.  She was talking about him! His eyes snapped open and he immediately began to seek out an escape route.  There was a window, across from him, with the early morning sunlight trickling in, sparkling against drifting dust particles to create a dreamy effect.  But he didn’t linger on that detail, only concerned with the pulsing ward pasted over it. There was no escaping through that window. 

“If Sango was hurt on that assignment, I’m coming after you, you know.”

There was a cold, steely warning in her voice that he felt in his body more than he heard it.  He felt his heartbeat growing faster in response, his eyes carefully following the faint shadow he could see on the other side of the sheet.  She was moving down, coming closer to the bed where he lay and he began preparing his claws and fangs for the anticipated attack.

“Well maybe you should have thought of that  _ before _ taking the case,” the tone of exasperation was strong in her voice.  “It’s my vacation time! I’m not answering any more calls from you!”

The sheet was pushed aside and the image of a grumpy, groggy young woman met his eyes.  Her hair was a wild mess around her face and she glanced at his tense, ready position without concern.  Switching off her phone, she threw it carelessly onto the nightstand and took a sip from her steaming mug as she assessed him with deep, chocolatey brown eyes.

“Calm down,” she muttered, “You’re in no shape to be fighting anybody.”

It was true, although he felt considerably better than yesterday.  His limbs still felt weak and heavy from the poison of the demon hunter’s bombs and his side still ached from the slash of her blade.  He narrowed his eyes at her, completely cornered against the wall and entirely suspicious now that he knew she worked with the people who’d attacked him.  She raised a humored eyebrow at him, a smirk lighting up her face. 

“I told you I wont ask questions,” she said, “Relax, no one’s gonna hurt you here.”

The woman came even closer, within striking range and his hands trembled as he continued to teeter in his decision to either flee or attack.  She didn’t seem to notice or care, her eyes were only concerned with the bandages wrapped tightly around his abdomen, visually inspecting them before glancing up to smile confusingly into his face.

“Lookin’ good, stranger,” she said jovially, “I’m always so jealous by how fast you guys heal.”

She stepped back, taking another long draught of her coffee.

“You’re probably hungry,” she said, “Probably should have something gentle on the stomach, yeah?”

She turned around and returned to the kitchen.  Now with the separating sheet tucked to the side, he had an uninterrupted view of the room.  It was tiny. The desk jammed against the wall was close enough for him to reach from the mattress.  There was a beat up couch slumped depressingly against the far side of the room, half blocking the entryway to a small, cramped kitchen.  Within, she made a racket with pots and pans, turning on the stove and fanning the air to disperse the smell of gas. A clean, savory scent began to permeate outward and his stomach growled excitedly in response.

“It’s gonna be a little bland but I think some porridge should hit the spot,” she was saying over her shoulder.  To say he was perplexed by her treatment of him was a gross understatement. Perhaps that confusion was what stayed his hand when he’d been preparing to strike out at her.  He took a breath and glanced around the room. The walls were absolutely jam packed with painted, warped papers, imagery of peaceful landscapes and colorful, dreamlike designs staining their crisp white sheets.  Charms and knick knacks were propped up or hung from every conceivable surface and he couldn’t help but feel embraced in this den like space, an organically and lovingly built nest. Across from him, the young woman began to approach him carefully, balancing a brimming bowl of steaming porridge on a tray.  She began to lean over him and his eyes went wide as this body turned to stone. 

“Careful, it’s hot,” she told him, gently positioning it over his lap before turning away.  He had to remind himself to breath. That was way. Too. Close! Personal space, woman! It was like his brain went into lockdown as she’d dipped down in front of him, the wave of her scent crashing over him tsunami style.  As warm and fresh as it was, he just couldn’t get his thoughts past his absolute shock that such an ordinary, casual gesture was being directed toward him. Blinking several times, he finally managed to refocus his eyes and relocate the befuddling young woman.  She’d wandered back into the kitchen and had filled her electric kettle again with water and the little, beat up thing looked completely unsafe as it rattled and hissed in an effort to service its owner. When her second cup of coffee had been brewed, she softly padded over, casually sinking into the mattress beside him and took a noisy sip.

“I gotta feed Buyo and Griff in a bit,” she said absently.  He couldn’t be sure if she was speaking to him or herself. “Then I gotta get some more flour and eggs, and then stop by the leather shop, then check on Sango…”

He made a face as he glanced at her, her baffling behavior completely throwing him off kilter.  The young woman picked at the lint sticking to her sweatpants, looking comical in her oversized, shapeless shirt.  She snuggled into the pillows, bringing her bare feet up. She was so uncomfortably close, he almost couldn’t stand it.  Positively frozen stiff beside her, he couldn’t even touch the brothy porridge she’d given him, despite how his stomach flipped and grumbled for it.  

“You’re not going to eat?” she asked him, turning to look into his eyes.  His expression was classic deer-in-headlights. She stared at him for a moment longer, her eyes direct and unflinching.  There was no judgement or emotion, just a direct, open stare. Finally, she shrugged and looked away. Much to his relief, she moved to stand, stretching her arms over her head, her mouth open wide in a jaw cracking yawn.

Absently, she placed her empty mug in her sink before hunting around on the floor, eventually pulling up a pair of jeans and tank top.  His eyes flared wide before immediately clamping shut when she began undressing in the middle of the room. Behind his eyelids, the image of her bare rump caught in the sunlight was seared into his brain and he followed her movements with his ears, listening the sound of cloth shifting against skin.  He heard a zip and a sigh and ventured open his golden irises again. Releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, he frowned as she grabbed a backpack and opened the door to the outside.

“You should probably keep resting for the day,” she said offhandedly, “Just leave the bowl on the nightstand or something.  I have protection charms so nothing should come wandering in while I’m gone.”

Unceremoniously, she turned and left the apartment, the door clicking as it closed shut.  And then he was alone. Confusion still swimming in his eyes, he glanced around again at the warmly lit, cluttered room before turning his attention to the still untouched bowl in front of him.  He was salivating, practically drooling and then he didn’t particularly care where he was or who that strange woman might be. He picked up the spoon on the tray and began to eat.

* * *

 

A/N:  Thanks for reading!  Let me know what you think!


	3. Rainy Afternoon

#  **Mocha Latte**

-Kitty

**Chapter 3:  Rainy Afternoon**

* * *

 

The air was wet and the sky was grey and he didn’t move save for a flick of an ear when the apartment’s owner returned.  She broke the silence around him in a minor cacophony of crackling bags, stumbling as she struggled out of her shoes.

“You’re up!” She said with mild surprise, “Jeez you guys heal fast.”

She immediately stepped up to him and he back pedaled quickly, his face clearly displeased with her proximity.  If she was aware of his discomfort, she ignored it studiously and focused intently on the bandaging around his stomach.

“Hmm,” she muttered to herself, “I guess you’ll live.”

She immediately whisked around and began to unpack her bags, taking her various purchases to their appropriate places.  A rumble of thunder rippled through the air and gave her pause. She lifted her eyes to the window, observing the dark grey clouds and heavy atmosphere outside.

“You feeling up for a walk in the rain?” She asked brightly.  She obviously didn’t believe in waiting for responses to her questions, he concluded, as she immediately began digging around the room, eventually pulling a crinkling rain poncho out of nowhere and holding up to him.

“That should fit,” she said, seemingly to herself.  “I’m not sure about shoes though… ah!”

Triumphantly, she turned from the storage bin near her front door, holding up a pair of flip flops that looked like the  _ could _ fit him.  He sniffed with disgust, his ears laid back, a scowl growing on his face.  The woman didn’t miss a beat, pulling out a large, worn out sweater and handing it to him.

“Here,” she said, “Some fresh air will feel so nice.”

And then she was off again, this time into the kitchen, a clatter of dishes and kitchenware echoing out of the small, cramped space.  The rickety electric kettle was set to boil and after a few minutes, the steaming water was poured out into a thermos and she was turning back to him.  He hadn’t moved an inch, holding the old sweater out in front of him with obvious distaste. She paused, assessing his body language before huffing.

“Well, be that way if you want,” she said, brushing off his cold attitude, “but I’d be going bonkers if I were cooped up inside all day.”

Stuffing her bottle into a small backpack, she pulled out a pair of brightly colored rain boots and a shiny raincoat, opening up the door and glancing back at him one more time.

“Last chance,” she said, “You’re call.”

She paused this time, a breath or two longer than she had previously.  It was as if she knew he was vacillating in his decision to be resolutely displeased with his host.  Finally, the scowl deepened on his face as he felt his desires caving in to her offer, it  _ would _ be good to breath the fresh air.

The flip flops though, were left behind, laying dejectedly in a corner as the door closed and the room was enveloped in darkness.

… 

The girl’s moan turned into a high pitched squeak as she stretched her hands above her head before shaking herself like dog and stepping out under the dark grey sky. It was just beginning to drizzle, the shy water droplets tickling his skin as he followed silently, moving like a shadow behind her.  She led the way with confidence, hardly looking back to see if he was even there, humming softly to herself, enjoying the wetness in the air. He could leave now, bolt. He could start running and there was nothing she could do to stop him. He glanced around, seriously contemplating it, befuddled with himself that he didn’t immediately seize the opportunity to escape.

A fat raindrop landed on his nose, cold and shocking against his skin.  Shortly after, another landed on the plastic of the poncho hood, and then another, stamping out a staccato rhythm that somehow seemed to match the tune the woman in front of him was humming.  The space between raindrops shrank and suddenly, they were in the midst of a downpour. In front of him, a squeal erupted that rang painfully in his ears and she took off running.

“Come on!” She urged him.  They turned a corner and he found himself standing at the edge of small neighborhood park, a wide, study wooden structure shelving them from the rain.  The woman had slipped out of her backpack and set it down on one of the picnic tables, and then turned to beam at him, her smile bright and her cheeks flushed.

“Sorry!” She exclaimed breathlessly, “Probably shouldn’t have made you run with those wounds.  How are you feeling?”

“... I’ll live,” he muttered, the words slipping out before he even realized he’d spoken.  He was surprised that he responded but the woman just breathed with relief then stepped back out from under the roof.  And now he was watching her, frown furrowing over his eyes again. She flapped her arms, giggling maniacally in the rain, the hood of her jacket falling back so that water began streaming down her face from her drenched hair.  And then, something amazing happened.

A shimmer in the air around her, at first he thought nothing of it.  But then the shimmer grew more defined and became a shape. A shape with a face.  The tattered and broken body of a boy, a dead boy, who materialized and watched the young woman in her exhilaration and joy over the late autumn shower.  At first, he reacted protectively, ready to move in between this potential threat and the carefree woman. And then he remembered that he didn’t care about her, would  _ prefer _ that she got hurt even, so he could be free to run off and carry on with his life.  And while he was busy internally berating himself for his inexplicable sudden urge to defend this peculiar young woman, she turned to the ghost child, extending a hand to the bloody figure and welcoming the boy to play in the rain with her.

And now he stood, absolutely and completely dumbfounded, mouth hanging open, as more and more ghost children joined in.  Even the spirit of the nearby oak tree emerged from its trunk to rejoice in the gift of rain. And then, her brown eyes turned to lock onto his, captivating him.  And then a slender, open hand gestured toward him, inviting him to join them. And for a moment, his muscles moved to accept, magnetically drawn to the purity of her joy.  And then he remembered himself and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to glare at her despite his continued shock over the entire situation. And again, she didn’t press the issue, just shrugged and continued to dance and splash in the empty playground, surrounded by the translucent shapes of children in various stages of dismemberment, and a leafy, alien spirit of the oak tree.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, sulkily watching the fun while he continued to pass up his chance at freedom.  Eventually, she stood still, breathless and laughing, then waved goodbye to the children before turning toward him, returning to the shelter, her jacket useless as she appeared to be completely soaked through underneath it.  She was panting, her eyes gleaming and her face flushed. The smile across her face stretched from ear to ear and she laughed at him.

“You having fun standing there sulking?” She asked jovially.  He glowered at her, releasing a quiet growl under his breath. There might be a little bit of regret in those golden eyes.  She laughed again and sat herself down on top of the picnic table, peeling off her jacket and shirt before rummaging into her bag.  Astonished by her lack of modesty, he quickly looked away, frowning at the playground slide while he listened to her pull out something, shuffling around to the backdrop of raindrops on the wooden roof.  Finally, she sighed and he glanced back at her. In a new, warm looking sweater, she gestured to him, patting beside her on the table. She had her thermos out and two steaming cups poured, obviously expecting him to join her.

He stood stiffly for a second, two seconds, then shifted begrudgingly, sidling over to seat himself at the very edge of the table, slouching low with hunched shoulders.  The sweet, dark smell of chocolate hit his nose and he glanced over at the cup now being held out to him.

“Mocha latte,” she said brightly, “Best on rainy days.”

His hands moved on their own, accepting the beverage carefully, before turning away from her again.  Thunder rolled in the distance and the rain began to fall even more heavily, surrounding them in a blanket of white noise.  A flash ripped across the sky and the girl beside him looked up as far as she could from under the park structure. 

“Storm’s getting closer,” she muttered to herself.  The park was situated on a hill and the view, while limited in between two very tall apartment buildings, opened up to overlook the rest of the city and the next time thunder rumbled above them, the girl sat up straighter, gazing eagerly into the distance until a streak of lightning sliced a jagged line through the sky.  She gasped in delight, shivering as she stroked the rim of her cup before lifting it up to her face to take a slow, long sip. Then she sighed, her eyes wide and eager as she continue to watch for lightning. 

He glanced down at the cup in his hands.  He glanced at the city below them, grey and dreary and cold.  He glanced at the woman beside him, completely incomprehensible in her excitement and happiness over a the thunder storm around them.  He rolled his eyes, huffed a sigh, and brought the beverage to his lips, taking a tentative, tiny taste.

The sweet, dark flavor washed over his tongue and settled over him like blanket.  It embraced him, seemed to protect him. The air around him was wet and chilly but he was warm, nursing the hot drink in his hands, sharing a moment with a woman he didn’t know.


	4. Cozy Evening

#  **Mocha Latte**

-Kitty

**Chapter 4:  Cozy Evening**

The wind was gusty and the rain came down in icy cold sheets.  The pair of hunched figures rushed hastily into the courtyard of the apartment complex, feet slapping wetly in the shallow puddles.  His pants clung uncomfortably to his lower limbs, impairing movement and making his legs feel like cold hunks of flesh dangling beneath him.  A low grumble was bubbling under his breath and grew steadily the longer he stayed in this drenched, cold state. The slimmer figure in front of him made a far different sound and was laughing maniacally as she fumbled with her keys to let them both inside the building.

“C’mon, c’mon!” she cried over her shoulder, the blustery wind whipping her words away from her lips.  

“It’s definitely a hot pot night!” the woman declared as she burst through the door of her apartment, sprinkling a shower of raindrops from her drenched hair.  Behind her, a significantly less enthused individual stalked in, eyeing her with suspicion that, at this point, was more of a stubborn put-on than anything else.  The female figure quickly shed her damp sweater onto the dejected looking couch at one end of the room, breezing into the kitchen to find the various meats and vegetables in support of her declaration.

He stood back, dripping in the doorway, mentally fighting the battle between just leaving now and waiting until after filling his stomach.  He’d been questioning his presence beside her the entire walk back, mood turning sour the more water seeped under the poncho he wore. The young woman popped her head out from the kitchen, casting her eyes about before focusing on his stiff, grumpy figure in her doorway.  

“Well, come on in and make yourself useful!” She said, “And take that poncho off, you’re soaked through!”

He begrudgingly shifted to bring one foot and then the next into the cramped homey space.  His skin was thoroughly chilled in the afternoon shower and his jeans stuck tightly to his thighs.  The fabric clung to his skin and the discomfort added greatly to his sour mood. The crinkly plastic poncho stuck to him and he eventually shredded the blasted material, a growl developing at the back of his throat.  The peculiar woman peeped out from the kitchen to witness his grumpy spell and didn’t bother the stifle her giggle. His grumble grew louder in response but she resolutely ignored his growls and moved across the room to dig into a closet, eventually pulling out a thick, fluffy towel.

“C’mere you,” she commanded.  She seemed greatly amused by his reaction to the order.  His ears flattened and both his fangs stuck out in a menacing growl.   _ ‘No one orders me around, bitch! _ ’

She simply rolled her eyes and stepped forward, bravely in the face of a snarling beast.  Raising the towel up in between them, she swiftly took him by either side of his face and before he could snap his fangs or slash his claws, she was massaging his hair dry with the softness and murmuring to him softly.

“There,” she said, “Doesn’t that feel nice?”

He was positively stone stiff for a few rigid seconds before he was able to command his muscles to move. The girl jumped when his fist came up to roughly put an end to her confidently massaging fingers.  There was a little piece of him that regretted the force of his movements as he ripped her hands away and stepped back, toweling his own hair dry and roughly tossing the damp material back at her. His eyes were narrowed, clearly indicating that he still didn’t trust her.  The girl didn’t miss a beat, simply rolling up the damp towel and tossing it aside before turning around and digging through her closet again.

“I have some spare sweatpants you can use…,” she muttered, “Ah!  Here we are!”

She pulled out a bright red monstrosity and held it up to him expectantly.  He eyed the gaudy attire with disgust, not at all interested in the clothing.  Again, she took his reluctance in stride and simply stuffed the soft, fluffy material into his arms before whirling around and returning to the kitchen.  He shifted uneasily, gingerly holding the fabric out and away from himself until he had to admit that warm, dry clothes were infinitely better than clingy, wet ones.

By this time, the gaping hole in his abdomen had stitched together enough for him to balance on one leg and peel the annoying, damp cloth of his jeans off his cold legs.  The tinkle of a giggle could be heard from the kitchen and his eyes snapped over to make sure no one was getting a peep show. The human wench seemed completely immersed in the business of prepared something savory and delicious smelling and he proceeded to reluctantly step into the softness, almost startled by the sensation his nerves fired up to his brain.

The stark contrast of cold, stiff jean to soft, pliant sweatpants made his skin tingle and he struggled to stifle his innate reaction to savor the feeling and attempt to look displeased with his surroundings.  A clatter erupted from the kitchen as he tugged off the oversized sweater and stood half naked in her living room just as the woman emerged, arms laden with dishes and chopsticks. She paused when she caught sight of him, her expression softening and she blinked once or twice before her eyes refocused on his face.  She smiled widely at him.

“Glad to see you’re healing nicely,” she chirped brightly.  Using a foot to nudge the coffee table out of the corner and into the center of the room, she clumsily set down the dishware before returning to the kitchen, reemerging with a portable gas burner.  

“Think you can figure out how to turn that on?” she asked over her shoulder, breezing back into the kitchen.  He narrowed his eyes and stood stock still. ‘ _ Still not taking orders from no one bitch!’ _ he thought to himself.  The girl huffed a little to herself to see he hadn’t moved an inch when she stepped out again, this time carefully balancing a steaming pot of broth.  She rolled her eyes at him teasingly before finishing the rest of the set up and flicking on the burner. The savory scent of broth and herbs permeated the room and he couldn’t help himself from salivating.  The woman had left a window cracked open for ventilation and finally sat down beside the table, perusing her little stash of thinly sliced meats she’d laid out. 

“Well?” her voice cut through the background noise of gently boiling water, “You gonna sit down or what?”

About two minutes.  That was the longest his will could manage before breaking down and submitting to his hunger and the delectable scents rising from the pot.  The woman, for her part, graciously shifted around the dishes and began heaping steaming beef and lamb slices in front of him without so much as a snort or snarky remark.  She recommended the ponzu and sesame dipping sauces around a full mouth and continued chowing down. The meal was consumed silently, with clacking chopsticks and clattering dishes, and an occasional slurp as the young woman joyfully and noisily sipped at the now, meaty, fatty broth.  

“Ahh…,” she said with a sigh, “That really hits the spot!”

She leaned back against the couch behind her, spreading out her arms on either side of her head and sinking down like slowly melting wax.  Though he wasn’t much for manners, he did try to stifle a belch but failed spectacularly, resulting in an explosion of bubbly giggles across from him and a bright red stain on his cheeks.  The young woman sighed as her laughter tapered off and she groaned to push herself to her feet.

“Glad you liked it!” she said casually, stacking up the empty dishes and disappearing into the kitchen.  The whirring of the overused kettle once again chimed from the doorway and moments later, she re-appeared holding two mismatched steaming mugs.  She set both down on the cleared table and sank to the ground again, tugging off a soft, fluffy blanket from the couch.

“Come sit on this side,” she asked him, patting the ground beside her.  He instantly stiffened, the initial euphoria of a fully satisfying meal, vaporizing and replaced with caution and suspicion.  She seemed to take in all this and shrugged.

“Hey,” she said nonchalantly, bringing the steaming mug close in her hands and letting the vapor tickled the underside of her chin, “You do you.”

He glanced at her askance, admitting to himself that it did look quite comfortable to be snuggled up underneath the thick blanket, her hands sticking out like little caterpillar legs carefully bringing the mug up to her lips.  She yawned wide, her head craning back against the couch. 

“You should finish the tea,” she said, “I put ginger and honey in it.  I’ll get you a towel and a toothbrush. Take your time but I think I’m gonna hit the hay.”

He retained his statue still position beside the table, his ears following her as she bumbled around the apartment and performed her nightly rituals.  When she softly padded back to the couch, falling into the sagging cushions and tucking the blankets under her chin, he realized that he’d been taking up her bed, and she’d been awkwardly making do with the small, beat up sofa.  A strange tremble inside of him tried to reach his heart in reaction to this epiphany, but he shoved it back down quickly. And when he glanced up again at the figure on the couch, she was breathing evenly, warm and bundled, and there was something extremely peaceful about the atmosphere in the quiet room.  

His golden eyes surveyed the dark, cluttered space, the ornaments hanging on the walls, the muted ticking of the mounted clock, the soft breathing on the couch.  There was a drip coming from the kitchen sink and outside, quiet whirring grumbles as cars drove past. Eventually, when he’d absorbed as much peace and tranquility as he could from the space, he stood, gingerly, staring down at the sleeping lump in front of him.  He hadn’t expected to feel so conflicted. It had only been a day and a night and already he felt tendrils of longing that found nooks and crannies in his walls and creeped into them like vines. One more night would be a night too long.

He cast his eyes around, trying to find his jeans.  After a minute, he noticed them hanging out of the laundry hamper and briefly debated leaving them.  Then he glanced down at the bright red sweatpants and grimaced, and went over to rescue his pants. There was no sign of his shirt, it was probably in tatters anyway.  For a moment, he pondered taking the sweater he’d cast aside earlier… no. He wasn’t a thief. In very short order he was ready to leave and glanced back over to the couch.  The furniture was short, the curled figure could barely fit, even fully folded with her knees tucked under her chin. He huffed to himself, annoyed by his guilt, then rolled his eyes and stomped toward the sleeping girl.  It had been a very long time since he’d handled something without trying to kill it. He was awkward, and jerky, but the woman gave no indication of awakening. She was warm against his chest and there again, he felt a strange trembling in his stomach that tried to reach for his heart.  Stiffly, he stalked over to the bed and tried to lay her gently on the mattress. She sighed as she sank into the pillow and he sighed to be done with it all. He let his eyes roam the room one last time, lingering again on the prone, slumbering figure, before turning and heading toward the door.

“You’re welcome back, anytime you need,” her voice slice through the silence.  He froze, heart jolting in fright, “My charms recognize you now, you’ll always have a safe place here.”

Far too clear and far too awake, her voice darted out to grab hold of something deep inside him and he resisted the trembling that once again vibrated upward from his gut.  He swallowed. He sniffed. And then he walked briskly to the door, opened it with more abruptness than he’d intended, and slipped out. The door eased shut behind him and silenced rushed in.  Outside, he stood silently for a short while, frowning at the welcome mat, surprised by how hard it was to take the next step. 

And then he paused.  He took a breath and squared his shoulders.  And then he willed his feet to move, one step at a time, back into the darkness and the unknown.  

* * *

A/N:  sorry for the delayed update… this story is really just supposed to be a little escape for me whenever I need a break and boy do I need one right now.  Been traveling for work for a month straight so I’m really glad I had a chance to sit out and just vegetate. Got another update for my other story on the way so stay tuned!  Hopefully it meets expectations!

Ciao y’all!


	5. A Light in the Dark

#  **Mocha Latte**

-Kitty

**Chapter 5:  A light in the dark**

* * *

 

Dangerous.  It was a dangerous habit he was picking up.  The white haired figure pulled the tattered coat tighter around his shoulders, a deep grumble vibrating outward from his chest.  The jacket had holes almost as big as the one in his gut and the cold, wintry winds blew straight through it, no matter how he huddled.  His perch was high above street level, within the empty boughs of a naked maple tree, with only a few fiery red leaves stubbornly clinging to its branches.  He was far too exposed and still far too weak to be risking an attack. Yet here he was, sitting grouchily against the thick trunk of the old hibernating tree.  His eyes were a pair of glowing, yellow embers peering down through skeletal branches. Down toward a warmly flickering light that perched delicately on a very particular window sill.  

He’d come back every damn day since leaving, drawn back to her apartment like a moth to a flame.  The first time time, the sharp, distinct scent of a heavily spiced, savory meal almost tore him apart as his stomach twisted upon itself.  It was a lot of work to recover from a puncture wound that went straight through his torso, particularly one with a very generous dose of poison, and his body complained loudly at his lack of care.  He sniffed sharply and continued to grumble while his eyes never left the wobbly candlelight that sat alluringly in the window.

The second night, just as dusk lay down its heavy blanket over the quiet neighborhood, he found to both his annoyance and inexplicable joy, she’d been expecting him.  A paper bag sat in the planters outside the window, and even in the dimming light, his sharp eyes could make out the wispy rise of steam emerging from the hot meal. The nights were growing colder and he couldn’t deny the gargantuan urge he felt to steal over that window, balance ever so carefully on the tree branch beside the building and lift up the offering for his stomach to rejoice over.  His appetite nearly took hold of his mind and it was the sudden shock of a flock of birds startled into flight that broke his concentration. He recoiled his arm quickly, staring down at it with an accusatory frown for betraying him so. He’d retreated soon after, leaping away from roof to tree top, just another shadow among many in the encroaching night.

Tonight’s offering was a fold of cloth, puffy and warm looking, carefully weighed down by a thermos mug that no doubt contained something hot and delicious.  This time, his stomach growled louder than his throat and he flashed his fangs in annoyance, tilting his head to glare down at the uncooperative organ. This nightly habit was becoming far, far to dangerous, for his own body to betray his position like this.  The shadowy figure in the tree was briefly stayed in his departure by the tinkle of laughter that cascaded out of that brightly flickering window that died down then swelled again in a full bellied laugh. The shadow with white hair and a tattered coat grit his teeth and clenched down with all his strength, forcing down the powerful urge to approach the warm, beckoning light.  Then, he turned, resolutely refusing to look over his shoulder, and launched himself up into the darkness of the evening sky. 

The corner in which he would spend the night was not far away.  Only a few blocks down and another street over, but it took him several more hours before settling down in this small patch.  He circled that small, little, cluttered apartment several times, gradually increasing his radius, either eliminating the small vermin or noting the changes in his scouting range.  A neighbor was now locking their garbage bins, and there was a new family of racoons in the hollow knot of the nearby oak tree. One or two rat demons that wandered too close for comfort that were giving the local cat population a challenge and a particularly fat feline that for some reason greeted him each night during his rounds.  By the time he’d finally arrived at his little scratched out nook, the moon was high overhead and he pressed his back heavily against the hard cement wall. The corner wasn’t much, just a small, noticeably garbage free joining of three planes with three marks that betrayed his position as he rested for the night. The golden eyed, white haired figure placed a dirty, bare foot on one of the smudges, almost unconsciously assuming his one knee down, one knee up sleeping posture, the pads of his feet and the seat of his pants rubbing off the dust from the cold, dirty ground and gradually warming the longer he maintain contact.  

Cold seeped in quickly where he made contact with the hard walls.  Still, it was better to be out of the wind and out of sight. It was unusual for him to return to the same nighttime patch several nights in a row.  But somehow, in this particular corner of the city, it felt secure, safe somehow, as though someone’s watchful eye carefully guarded this space. He sat there a long time, the goosebumps along his arms and legs were tight and he shivered.  He closed his golden eyes and recalled the light in the shadows, bobbing and flickering, like the fragile thing it was, yet steady, and constant, waivering but stubbornly holding on, shining bravely in the darkness. It was hard to describe this thing he felt, seeing that small flame of hope fighting off the blackness of the night.  A strange sort of swelling in his chest, that made him worry briefly that something was wrong with his body. As though perhaps, the poison the demon slayer had was still in him, sweeping through his veins and making his heart feel many times too large for his chest. But then, alone in that cold, hard corner, a clawed hand would reach up to feel his own heartbeat, confirm for himself that he was alive, and then his mind would slowly give way to memory.  The warm, yellow glow of candlelight that bathed a slender figure dressed in oversized garb. She’d approach him, her hands filled with steaming containers and he’d smell it. Dark and sweet, cutting through the chill and the bitterness and the taste would run along his tongue as though truly holding it in his mouth. His body tingled to remember the sensation. The warm, heavy taste of chocolate.

* * *

 

A/N:  let’s just pretend that dog demons can have chocolate.  Or that Inuyasha’s half human side can handle it… yeah...


	6. A Tiny Warmth

A/N:  um, minor change: it is no longer fall (I think i mentioned it was autumn in an earlier chapter), I decided to change the time frame of all this to spring because I wanted to write about baby bunnies...

* * *

 

#  **Mocha Latte**

-Kitty

**Chapter 6:  A tiny warmth**

* * *

 

Thunder rolled distantly in the sky and a sudden jagged flash of light illuminated his dark corner.  The huddled figure was curled tightly into itself, silver white hair clinging wetly to his back. Water ran in little rivulets down his bare back, sinking cold shivering tremors into his skin.  This fucking sucks.

_ “My charms recognize you now, you’ll always have a safe place here.” _

He growled softly to himself as the rain continued to beat down on his exposed figure.  It was a downpour and the clouds overhead were still dark and heavy with the promise of even more rain.  He was used to the cold, but his body bore it reluctantly. It had recently had a taste of warmth and softness and the comfort of a small, cozy home and that memory was a stab at his mental fortitude as he stubbornly waited out the storm.  

The dawn struggled to shine through the cloud layer and the day only managed to brighten into a cold, moody gray.  Eventually, his joints complained over the stiff, cramped position and with a grunt and a groan, he uncurled and stood.  It was a gloomy new day and his subconscious new exactly where to go to feel just a little bit better.

Before he was really conscious of his movements, he was back in that bare maple tree, furtively glancing down at the dark window.  It was early in the morning and the apartment’s occupants had obviously not yet roused for the day. He sighed, surprised by how disappointed he felt at the darkness in that window.  Glancing around, he clutched at himself as he observed the suburban neighborhood below. The pavement was slick with rain and white, artificial light shimmered and danced as it bounced against the ground.  Every now and then, the harsh, startling headlights of a vehicle would round the corner and he’d press himself tightly against the rough bark in and effort to remain undetected. The rain had lessened, but maintained a blanket of white noise that lulled him as he roosted on that branch and gazed down at her window.  He blinked and his eyes roamed. The grass below was fresh and vibrant, joyous of the rain and fearless of the cold. The rain water pooled near the curb, creating little eddies and streams as it tumbled toward the drain. A little, still object lay like discarded trash on the lip of the drain and for some reason, it caught and held his attention.

Scent was difficult to gather in the wake of the stormy night and he couldn’t identify the tiny lump below him from the distance.  The shadows across its surface gave him the distinct impression that the thing had fur. Perhaps that was why his eyes were drawn to it.  He studied the small, round, sodden lump, and found that he began to recognize tiny paws and ears the closer he looked. And suddenly, it twitched, tiny little feet waving uselessly on its side as the poor, drenched rabbit shivered intensely as though desperately struggling for life one last time.

It was hard to put into words, the wave of emotion that swept through him.  Regret for the young life lost, melancholia, pity. He knew how it was, that life was cruel and harsh and uncaring and he seemed to feel the wheel of life turning as the tiny rabbit’s movements stilled, stiffly, in the dark, stormy morning.  The thought that the little thing would die pressed its way through him, like moisture seeping into his skin. 

But then, its hind foot kicked out again, knocking the precariously balanced bundle of fur off the lip of the drain and suddenly, he was in motion, swooping down to the gutter, a desperate hand reaching elbow deep into the mysterious dark world below.

_ ‘I can’t let it die.’ _

He couldn’t quite define how or why this thought suddenly rose up in his mind, commandeering his free will and causing him to bring the little fistful of fur to his chest.  He was hardly thinking as his body moved, his bare feet slapping against the wet pavement. They swiftly brought him to the apartment door where he stood, dripping enough water to fill a small bathtub, hesitating with a hand hovering above the doorbell.

A click from the other side and suddenly, the door burst open, revealing a confused, sincere face that gazed up at his.  The expression he bore must have been obvious in its distress because her warm brown eyes filled with concern, frowning, before dropping down to focus on the tiny lump in his hands.  Her eyes went wide, her frown lifted and her face brightened with understanding. Her hands opened immediately to accept the precious bundle.

Burden relieved of, he immediately took a step back, prepared to flee but her voice froze him to ground.

“Were there any more?” She asked, “Rabbit nests will often have several babies.”

His eyes went wide and he whirled around.  “I’ll check,” he muttered, before disappearing from sight.

She had hardly had enough time to dig out a fresh, dry towel when he reappeared before her door, a tiny furred lump in each hand.  One already had the scent of death creeping into it and he gingerly held it back while handing her the second, half drowned rabbit. Before he could escape, she was ushering him back inside, that gaudy pair of red sweat pants again thrust into his arms, and pushing the door closed to bar his exit.  

“Get yourself dry,” she urged, turning back to the two rabbits in her arms, “And I have beef stew leftovers in the fridge.  I’ll heat it up as soon as we warm up these little guys.”

They were small, both could fit easily in her slender hand.  She held them close against her chest, their dampness seeping into her shirt.  Her warmth began its work, gradually bringing up their body temperatures and she smiled to feel their little bodies beginning to revive.

He watched her in an odd state of detachment, one hand holding the rabbits’ dead sibling, the other gripping the sweatpants as though he’d forgotten what to do with them.  She looked up at him, her chocolate brown stare direct and bright and suddenly, a tension he hadn’t realized was there seemed to drain out of him, leaving him feeling weak and dazed as she approached him.  The smile on her lips seemed to feed a fire in his gut and it warmed him from the inside out.

“It’s good to see you again,” she said, gently taking the dead rabbit from his lax hand. She carefully laid the limp creature on a discarded towel on the table before turning back to him, placing her hand on his to encourage him.  “Get those sweatpants on and come sit down. We can give this little guy a send off after the rain ends.”

He blinked and glanced at the rabbit on the table, then brought his gaze to the living pair in her arms.  He should get going, there was no more reason to stay. But then he felt her warm hand on his wrist, pulling him further into the apartment and as though his brain had disconnected from his body, he allowed himself to be led to the couch.

“Here,” she said gently, “They’re mostly dry now, hold them close to warm them up.  I’ll heat up something for you.” 

He stared at the little towel wrapped bundle she handed him and with excruciating care, lifted them closer to his chest.  He was stiff, but he let this bewildering woman drape a thick, fleece blanket over his shoulders, despite flinching when he felt her fingers brush against his skin. She ignored the unconscious gesture and moved on to the kitchen, the familiar sound of pots and dishes clanking as she worked.  It wasn’t long before a warm, savory scent drifted into the living room and she re-emerged with two mugs of steaming tea.

“It’s hot,” she warned, setting down his share.  Reached toward him, she held her arms open, gesturing to the rabbits he cradled and after an unsure breath, he relinquished them to her before reaching down to tug at his clammy wet jeans.  Glancing up at her, he was relieved that she had turned her back, waiting for him to change. His skin tingled as he shed his wet attire. Again, he was bemused by the surreal feeling of the soft, warm material, both the sweatpants and the blanket around his shoulders.  Harshness, he understood, knew how to respond to. But this softness, in both her demeanor and in what she offered him, left him frozen and disbelieving. As though he were living in a dream, in a world that could not possibly exist in reality. When he’d settled, she turned back around, her eyes sparkling as she smiled at him.  He found himself unable to hold her gaze, and awkwardly glanced around the room, taking in the familiar trinkets and artwork. Surprise washed over him to spot a new painting propped up on the desk, slowly drying in the warm room. It was of a tall figure wearing red, topped with streaming white hair and two triangular ears, facing away from the viewer, surveying a dynamic, colorful swirl of bold, curving brushstrokes.  The girl followed his gaze and chuckled bringing his attention back to her.

“You leave a very striking impression,” she told him. 

Something in the kitchen bubbled and she rose, leaning across the coffee table to return the little bundle of baby rabbit to him while she served the leftover stew.  Looking down at the two breathing lumps of fur, he had to bite his lip over the strange swell of warmth that burned and tingled inside him. Shifting, he brought out a dangerous, clawed hand carefully, oh so carefully, to stroke the soft, downy fur.  The two fuzzy creatures shifted against each other and he couldn’t help the small twitch of a smile that played at his lips. Slowly, carefully, he brought his hand down again, gently feeling their trembling, pulsing bodies. They were warm.

* * *

 

A/N:  While I was in college, I stumbled across a baby bunny that was dying in the middle of rainstorm.  At first I thought it was too bad and walked right past it but something stopped me. I thought I’d just try to dry it up and leave it in a covered spot, but once I picked it up, I just knew I  _ had _ to do everything I could to save it.  I was on my way to work so I called my boyfriend and he was able to come over to pick it up.  Between the two of us and the internet, we were able to get it back on its feet and it seemed old enough to eat solid food so we released it nearby.  Sadly, I wasn’t very clear about where I found it so despite my boyfriend’s best efforts, he wasn’t able to find any of its siblings before it was too late so it was the only one of its litter to survive.  We were recently flipping back through some old college memories and this little story came up and I felt like writing about it. Figured in fiction at least we could save one more of its siblings :P

Also, yay!  Inuyasha’s back with Kagome again!


	7. The Sounds of Peace

#  **Mocha Latte**

-Kitty

**Chapter 7:  The sounds of peace**

* * *

 

There was very little warning when the front door burst open and a tall, ponytailed woman strolled in.  For the briefest of pauses, they both froze, staring stiffly at each other before everything happened at once.

“You!” she shouted, drawing a sword out of nowhere and lunging toward him.

He was caught in a dilemma, still cradling the two surviving rabbits in one hand, rather securely settled in the couch and the other hand tipping the last dribbles of beef stew into his lap.  His instincts kicked into high gear, sending a buzz of adrenaline tingling through his veins. He leapt up from the couch just as the intruder slashed through the sofa he’d just been lounging on.  The studio apartment was cramped and provided very little landing space and so he found himself slamming against an old bookshelf along the wall, decorative pottery and picture frames clattering to the ground and shattering to pieces.  The apartment’s owner dashed out of the kitchen, wooden spoon in hand and dusted with flour. 

“What th-,” she cut herself off as she took in the scene. Him snarling from a crouched position near the door, while the new girl stood sturdily on the abused couch, sword raised and prepared to swing again.  

“Sango!” she exclaimed, rushing in between them and raising her arms in a defensive gesture, “For pity’s sake!”

The Sango woman flipped quickly to glare at the figure now shielding him with her own body.  It was the strangest mix of emotions he felt to stare up at her back, slowly coming to the realization that she had acted without thinking, and automatically stepped up in his defense against a deadly weapon.  

“ _ Another _ one, Kagome?!” the armed woman groaned with exasperation, “You realize  _ that’s _ my latest assignment, right?”

_ ‘Kagome… So that’s her name,’ _ he mused absently, before flinching and growling in reaction to seeing the gleaming blade pointed down at him.  

“In this apartment, he’s my guest,” Kagome stated flatly, her voice steely and serious.  There was a tense silence while both girls glared stubbornly at each other, before Sango blinked and sighed, lowering her naked blade. Kagome then seemed to deem the crisis dealt with because her stance loosened and she stepped toward Sango to carelessly tap the sword with her wooden spoon, showering a little dusting of flour onto the damaged couch.  

“Put that stupid thing away and sit down,” she said, her voice annoyed, her expression resigned, “My poor couch…”

Sango walked stiffly past him as he continued to snarl at her.  Kagome clunked him lightly on the head, startling him out of his posturing.  It was a very disquieting thing, how she was able to approach him and strike him so easily.  He was usually far more aware of his surroundings. That she could draw so close, close enough to knock him in the head, was a concerning development for him.  

“That’s enough from you,” Kagome admonished him before turning back to the kitchen. The silence that followed was excruciating in its tenseness as Sango glared daggers at him, setting down her sword in the umbrella stand with a sharp clang.  His muscles contracted painfully as he maintained in stone still position, half fleeing, half preparing to defend himself. The tension stretched tersely in the air while Kagome fussed with whatever it was she was working on in the kitchen, ultimately emerging again, with a slight sheen of sweat of her brow.

“So,” she said with a sigh, “What’s up?”

Sango cast a sidelong glance his way, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to prickle as they stood on end.  She appeared to roll her eyes before shrugging and turning her attention to the strange young woman hosting them.

“Nothing really,” she replied, casually reaching into the closet near the door, reemerging with a dustpan and small hand broom.  She set to work clearing the shattered pottery while continuing, the shard tinkling musically in the background. “Miroku’s not too pleased about this latest assignment.  Our client is very eager to have this case resolved as quickly and discreetly as possible.”

Kagome snorted as she bent over to inspect the gash in her couch.  Meanwhile, he retained his stiff, ready to flee position near the doorway, a clawed hand still pressing the two tiny breathing warmths against his chest.  When the apartment owner turned towards him, he twitched unconsciously, uneasy in the presence of one he recognized as a threat.

“Don’t worry,” Kagome said to him, catching his eye and somehow spellbinding him in her gaze, “Nothing’s gonna happen to you while you’re in my home.”

Sango, who by now had seated herself comfortably on Kagome’s bed, snorted deliberately, daring the young woman to keep her promise.

“Relax,” Kagome insisted, reaching down to tug at his elbow, “Come sit down, you’re making me nervous.”

He was surprised when his lungs began to burn, he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath.  And when her fingers touched his arm, there was a flood of sensation that his stressed and suspicious mind could not process.  Perhaps his astonishment with his own predicament numbing his brain was what allowed the young woman to lead him back to the couch, the undamaged side, and press him back down into the cushions.  Before she straightened back up, he caught scent of a warm sweetness in her hair and that little sensory jolt helped return the gears in his head into motion. She stared softly down at him, a tender hint of a smile playing at the corner of her lips.  

“Keep those little guys warm,” she said quietly, “I’ll get you another set of pants as soon as I’m done with the cookies.”

Kagome once again disappeared into her kitchen, leaving him alone with his assassin and he shifted uncomfortably.  Sango’s eyes were on him, a direct stare that was masked and betrayed nothing of her thoughts, whether or not she planned to attack him again, regardless of what Kagome had promised.  A creaky rattle of the old oven door opening and closing, and then Sango blinked, turning to Kagome as the young woman once again emerged.

“So,” she said leadingly, “How’d you two meet?”

Kagome laughed easily, amused by Sango’s insinuating tone.  She pulled out a soft fleecy pair of pants from the closet and handed it to him. Without a care in the world, she plunked down on the damaged side of the couch beside him, the vanilla and sugar in her scent wafting out to imbue the room.  He had to quell a shiver as her arm brushed close to his, the fine hairs on his skin trembling at her proximity.

“You were so kind as to practically drop him at my feet,” she answered, extending her hands to him, gesturing toward to sleeping rabbits.  She nodded toward the bathroom cradling the two breathing fur balls in her arms. Stiffly, he moved to get up, confused by her blatant carefree demeanor.  He stood in the bathroom for several seconds, a swelling in his chest that made his skin feel too tight. What a strange, incongruous setting he was finding himself in, lounging on a couch across from a woman who’d nearly killed him, and beside a woman who’d saved him.  He could hear fluttery chatter from the other side of the door, relaxed and casual, somehow soothing in the way their voices rose and fell. He stared down at the material in his arms. It was soft and plush, with a warm inviting scent just like the rest of the cozy apartment.  He couldn’t help himself and his thumb stroked the fabric, the fidgety, outward movement a manifestation of the conflicting emotions inside of him. 

By the time he’d re-emerged, a quiet serenity had descended on the apartment.  Sango leaned against the wall, still seated on Kagome’s bed, comfortably making herself at home and half way through a book that had appeared out of nowhere.  Kagome smiled warmly at him, patting the cushion beside her and immediately deposited the rabbit bundle back into his hands just as a timer dinged in the kitchen.

“Perfect timing!” She said, winking at him as she stood.

What followed was a gush of delicious, warm, sweet scent that billowed out into the main room.  Despite a belly full of savory beef stew, he felt himself salivate in reaction to the scent of vanilla and nutmeg and chocolate.  A cough from across the room alerted him and he looked up to spot Sango staring at him again. He stiffen instantly, prepared from some kind of offensive but she just shrugged at him.

“Kagome bakes a mean cookie,” she said, “It’s why I’m here every Sunday.”

“Aw, thanks Sango,” Kagome cooed, returning with a plate full of goodies in her hands.  She deposited the steaming platter of deliciousness on the coffee table and plunked back down next to him.  

“Help yourself,” she said, before reaching behind the couch and pulling out a pair of sticks connected by wire.  His golden eyes frowned, staring curiously at the thin clicking objects. A fluffy, blue ball of yarn was unceremoniously tossed into his lap and he jumped in surprise.

“Relax,” Kagome told him again, “And help me keep that from getting tangled up.”

Silence followed, a noisy silence.  Sango filled up a plate of the freshly baked cookies and returned to lounging on the bed.  She crunched away happily, suddenly ignoring his presence despite having tried to kill him just minutes ago.  Beside him, Kagome was embroiled in her own little task, the clickity clack of her knitting needles tapping rhythmically against each other as she worked.  He was rubbish at managing the yarn ball and the young woman eventually took it from him with a laugh, setting it aside and handling it herself. The flutter of a page turning caught his attention as Sango read.  And even deeper, the pitter patter of the tiny heart beats in his hands, the soft shuffling of Kagome’s thickly socked feet as she shifted, while outside, the rain continued to drip and drop lightly against the window.  His mind wandered idly without him realizing it, drifting from sound to sound, absorbing the strange, yet natural peace that settled into him, penetrating even his bones. His limbs suddenly felt heavy and before he could even begin to worry over being drugged or entranced, his eyes fluttered as he heaved a deep sigh, only absently registering the figure beside him as she shifted, sinking down one side of the cushions so that his head surrendered to the force of gravity.  A soft, warm darkness embraced him before he was even aware of the tickle of her hair as it fell against his cheeks, her sweater clad shoulders welcoming as he leaned his weight against her. His dreams were gentle, quiet things, an embrace so tender and endearing, he felt it pierce through his heart with a powerful bittersweet taste. But then careful, gentle fingers brushed against his cheeks, and swept all evidence of his pain away.

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A/N:  Hey folks!  So, I was totally intending up update sooner but I’ve been away attending my first Indian wedding… and those things are no joke!  I’m exhausted! I totally thought I’d be able to write on the plane but I ended up sleeping pretty much the entire way back! Haha…. Anyways, hope you guys like this little dribble.  I promise I’ll be updating Forever Home in the next week or two with an epilogue (finally!) and then may go into hibernation figuring what the next big project will be :P

Thanks for reading and definitely let me know what you think!

Happy New Years everybody!

 


	8. Soft Goodbye

A/N:  This update is brought to you by Evil Illusions (on ff.net), who reminded me that Mocha Latte could really use a bit of love :)

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#  **Mocha Latte**

-Kitty

**Chapter 8:  Soft Goodbye**

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“I still can’t believe he fell asleep!”

“Shhh!”

His climb back to consciousness was slow and hazy.  And despite his usual suspicion of nearby presences, he felt oddly comforted by their nearness.  His lungs expanded wide in an exaggerated breathe, collapsing slowly in a drawn out sigh. The scents of nutmeg and vanilla still lingered in the air, combining with a woody dampness that reminded him of calm, peaceful places.  A densely wooded thicket, a springy, mossy carpet on a dark forest floor. He could almost taste the sweetness of that air.

“Right, right, let ‘im sleep.  You coming in this week?”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

The voice was soft and smooth from somewhere beside him and he felt something surge inside, shifting as if trying to be closer.  A warmth rustled beneath his shoulder and though a part of his consciousness sought to identify it, another, sleepier part only appreciated the heat.  It wasn’t until the sound of the door clicking shut snipped through his dreamy state like a pair of scissors that he blinked his golden eyes open.

He grunted and abruptly attempted to sit up right.

“Welcome back, sleepy head,” her voice reached him and sounded cheerful and bright. He blinked, turning to glance around in a daze.

“Oh, careful!” She said, bringing a hand to brace his, “Don’t drop them!”

He jumped at the contact when he felt her hands touch his.  Then memory returned and he carefully cradled the precious bundle in his hands.  The wetness he smelled wafted in from the open window and outside he heard the damp sounds of tires brushing against the drenched pavement.

The rain had ended.

His eyes were magnetically drawn to the delicate, breathing shapes still cradled in his hands and for a brief moment, he was entranced by the soft, grey fur trembling as the rabbits’ little hearts pitter-pattered within their tiny bodies.  He sighed, feeling almost heady with contentment, idly observing the gaudy red sweatpants adorning his legs, and then he gradually came away that the gentle presence nearby was watching him, waiting for his attention to turn her way.

He turned toward her slowly, almost bashful, and more than a little disbelieving that he had actually slept so deeply beside her on the couch.  Her smile was warm when their eyes met.

“Hi,” she said simply.

He glanced away in discomfort.  He wasn’t used to holding eye contact with such a soft, welcoming gaze.

“I was thinking,” she said gently, “now that the rain had stopped, we could go lay the rabbit that didn’t survive to rest.”

… 

The sun fought valiantly against the heavy, passing storm clouds and the light around them remained diffused and grey.  They didn’t go far, around the block and down the street. The same little park where he’d watched her dance with joy in the early spring shower.  The barren, skeletal oak tree, with its empty branches stood guard over the empty, sodden playground and the cold, grey dampness of the wooden structures seemed to seep moisture into his own clothes as he stepped onto the springy wood chips.  

The air had a crisp, lively brightness to it and when he inhaled, he felt energized, despite their solemn mission.  The woman walked beside him silently, subtly guiding him with her nearness like the moon pushed and pulled the tides.  She gradually took the lead, cradling the still, cold shape in her hands until she stood before the tall, proud oak. Tenderly, she stroked the stiff, downy body, arranging the baby rabbit in a curled, serene pose.  She didn’t say a word as she carefully laid the small tuft of fur down in between the protective roots of the tree, just pressed her hand over the body one final time before straightening. Though the space around them was filled with the sounds of remaining raindrops dripping from the trees, the cars that passed by the abandoned park, for him, there was a calm, pervading silence in his memory of the informal funeral ceremony.  Upright once more, he watched the girl place a slender, caressing hand against the bark of the sturdy oak, her eyes closed with a soft smile playing at her lips. Within the layers of wooden fiber, he swore he could sense the oak tree spirit respond to her. 

The crows circled ominously overhead and without thinking, his lips pulled up over his canines and a soft growl began to vibrate in his throat.

“They are allowed to take their share,” a quiet voice beside him said, softly, but assertively.  Kagome wasn’t looking at him, her gaze calmly, serenely, directed down at the little grey tuft of fur.  

“Life will die and beget new life.  There’s no need to guard the body, it will go back to the earth and return in another form.”  At this point, she turned to him, her dark, brown eyes boring holes into his soul. It would be far too easy to fall into them, as they seemed to ask him to, to let go of all the harshness his life had been and to find comfort in what she offered.  

“You cared,” she said, “You cared to try to save it.  You cared to say goodbye. Your intention, your acknowledgement, that's more than enough for this one young life.”

They stood there for some time, gazing solemnly down at the small, still lump of grey fur nestled comfortably between the roots of the great tree.  The tiny, baby rabbit looked as if it were sleeping, and any trick of the light gave him the impression that it still breathed. He couldn’t entirely pinpoint what it was about that tiny, lost life that touched him so deeply. Him, calloused and hardened as he was.  The perfection in the tiny shape’s little round paws, the minuteness of the loss of life. There was a finality to the little creature’s death that was matched with a powerful bloom of the possibilities of life. How quietly this little rabbit will pass from existence, without acknowledgement save for himself and the girl beside him.  And yet he keenly felt its impact, small and humble though it was. His scowl was deep as he stared down at the dead creature, his breath shallow, feeling as though he were dancing at the edge of some epiphany.

“Are you ready to go home?”

Her voice was soft and clear, melodic and bright.  It cut through the grey, confused clouds in his mind but it was quiet in the way it demanded his attention.  She took his hand in hers and a thrill danced up his arm at the contact.

Something was changing.  It burned inside him like a glowing ember and he felt that heat seeping through his veins and invading even his outermost regions.  He stared dumbly down at their connected hands, a strange conflicted dilemma tossing inside his mind. And then, she gave him a squeeze, and a gentle tug, and then he was moving, smoothly, easily, following her like it was the most natural thing to do.  And then they were back inside and a relief like nothing he’d ever felt before washed over him to be back in that quiet, cozy, comforting place.

* * *

 

A/N:  Thanks for encouraging me to come back to this fic, Evil Illusions!  This story is very meditative for me and it’s nice to be reminded to slow down and take time to appreciate small things.  Work has been amping up so I may have trouble finding the time to write at all for a bit but will definitely try to keep a reasonably steady stream coming in the upcoming months.

A bit of a bluer chapter than I had originally intended but I hope you guys liked it!

Thanks for reading!  Till next time!


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